Awkward Positions
by Amatara
Summary: Londo and G'Kar find a little peace and freedom - in a Centauri prison cell. Set in late season 5, between the events of "And all my dreams, torn asunder" and "Movements of fire and shadow". Contains tentacle pr0n, so don't say I didn't warn you. :


"Great Maker – lie _still_, you nervous spoo-for-brains!" The gesture that came with the exclamation nearly tipped him off the cot altogether, and Londo gulped back a second round of protest. Clinging tight to blessedly robust Narn fabric, he reigned in his movements, but not his voice. "There is barely enough room for the two of us _without _you fighting for every inch. Why can't you –"

"Don't delude yourself, Mollari," G'Kar retorted almost absently, squirming in the small space between Londo and the damp stone wall. "There is not enough room for us both in the _universe_, let alone on a one-person cot in a prison cell, so –" A beat, then, sharply, "Does this place have _cameras?"_ Scowling, the Narn craned his head to peer at the ceiling, bearing the look of a man ready to fend off assassins.

Londo would have heaved a sigh at that, except that the effort to avoid sprawling to the floor still took up most of his concentration. As it was, he just waited until G'Kar settled down long enough for him to hook a leg around his hips. The maneuver would hardly suffice to pin down an alarmed Narn if that's what it came to, but at least it gave him the illusion of being a little more in charge.

"Of course it doesn't," he huffed, turning his attention back to unwrapping G'Kar's upper garments, which was what he'd been doing _before_ the man's little fit of paranoia. It hadn't taken him long to decide he was craving thoughtlessness more than sleep, and he wasn't quite prepared to meet resistance – not now, not about _this_. "What do you take us for, _barbarians_? Besides, you should know: I would hardly have discussed Cartagia's demise with you had there been listening devices in these cells, hmm?" That memory stung ever so slightly, but he trampled over it with practiced ease, focusing on the multitude of straps that kept defying his fingers.

"Ah, but this is a different cell, isn't it?" G'Kar half-frowned, half-grimaced at him, but he didn't protest as Londo's hands made further progress at burrowing beneath the leather undercoat. "The _luxury _cell, as I understood. And seeing that your people are less trustworthy the higher up in the order they are, it would make _very_ good sense to have a camera here. A prospect I don't find appealing at all, if I may be so bold as to criticize the accommodation."

Londo harrumphed, wondering for the umpteenth time why Narns, being supposedly so hardened in ways of survival, would be so… _prudish, _really, about the most everyday of affairs. Nudity, for example, or public discussion of matters physical – things which, to a Centauri, were the most natural in the world – all used to make G'Kar turn every shade of spotted purple… when he was sober, at least. Force of habit had worn off the edges, of course, as had a healthy dose of alpha-male boisterousness. But all things considered, it didn't take much for the Narn to slide back into the old patterns. Shame, Londo thought, with a stab of heartsickness for Adira, who had been the exact opposite in that respect; pity and shame.

Deliberate, he let his hand creep down another layer, using the other hand to finish unlacing his own shirt. "Don't be paranoid, G'Kar," he replied, keeping his tone light. "Do you think _anyone_ around here is interested in the type of activities prisoners, especially _Narn _prisoners, tend to engage in in cells like this?" Raking the Narn's stomach with his nails in punctuation, Londo stifled a gratified smirk as the sulk was replaced by a strained hiccough. "And if they do, why should we even _care_?"

"_I_ care," the Narn breathed, dangerously, the look reminding him for a moment of what an enraged G'Kar was capable of. "As should you, if you are in any way attached to your – _dignity_."

Londo pressed down a rush of frustration that was as unexpected as it was strong. While the banter would have invigorated him on any other occasion, he was suddenly, irrationally, struck by the fear that they were running out of time. "Has anyone ever told you you _think_ too much?" he grumbled, quenching the feeling by bending over and fastening his teeth upon the ridged Narn hide he had just bared. "Thinking is not very appropriate when one is making love, no?" He winced as his own attributes quivered in empathy, but made no move to free them. For some obscure reason, G'Kar preferred the use of Londo's _hands_ over anything else the Maker had given him, and this was hardly the time or the place to make a point to the contrary.

"We are not 'making love'", G'Kar countered, a bit breathless but otherwise unperturbed. "We are simply – spending our time in the least disagreeable way available." But his eyes belied his words as they crinkled, lines trailing from their corners up towards the spotted scalp, before settling on Londo at last. Letting out a breath, the Centauri watched him slip a gloved hand between the hems of the silk, then sucked the air back in as studded leather trailed across his side in a motion both familiar and fresh.

"Whatever you wish," Londo sighed, making an effort to sound bored, but G'Kar's hand had fastened on a target by now, fondling it with lazy strokes in a way that was decidedly distracting. For a moment, he wondered if the Narn had picked up on his own sense of urgency, or if he had simply grown tired of arguing, but as the strokes quickened and found a steady rhythm, he found he didn't actually want to know. Instinctively, his own hand slid to cover one of the sensitive Narn nipples, finding it hard and taut and oddly reassuring in its warmth.

"Your hands are cold," the Narn's voice rumbled, though it didn't sound much as if he cared. G'Kar's breath was hitching slightly now, but the gloved hand didn't miss a beat.

They never came at the same time. Most often, as Centauri lore and boasts would lead to expect, G'Kar would be first, already shuddering through climax before Londo was even halfway towards the count of one. Today, though, Londo beat him to it, coming hard and fast as if it had been years rather than days, and as the Narn caught him against it, he could swear there was kindness behind those eyes. His own eyes were already drooping shut, but he fought it with all the strength he could muster, afraid somehow of what would happen if he let them. Those past weeks, the dreams had returned with a vengeance – not the death dream, which would have been familiar at least, but new ones, dark and chaotic and filled with pale shapes and alien faces he didn't even recognize, but nonetheless filled him with a sense of dread. It almost felt, he thought, with a queasy kind of resignation, like something was drawing nearer, inching across the threshold even now.

"Go to sleep," G'Kar told him, cutting through his reverie. "Seeing as the Centauri brain stops functioning for some hours after intercourse, it won't be a great loss anyway."

Londo started on the obligatory chuckle, then reconsidered and pushed himself up on his elbows, shaking his head with some insistence. "Who needs sleep when there are pleasures to be had, hmm?" he began, forcing a grin. "I certainly don't –"

"Because of the dreams?"

Londo blinked, then shrugged ruefully; trust G'Kar not to miss anything. Of course, the fact that they'd been sharing a room more often than not those past months didn't help in keeping a secret, especially since he was not a silent dreamer. To his own surprise, he found himself feeling relieved rather than annoyed that the Narn had read him like a book. "Would you believe, G'Kar," he whispered, hoarse, "that despite us being in a _cell_, and my people on the verge of war, I have this feeling – these are still the _good _times? And... they are ticking away."

If he'd expected some kind of insight from G'Kar, it didn't come. Instead, the eyes grew their laughter lines again, although this time there was a hint of sorrow too. "You think too much, Mollari," the voice purred, unfathomable. "Didn't anyone teach you – not to think when making love?" At which he reached over and, smile still on his face, drew Londo's hand deeper between the folds of cloth.


End file.
